


Victory

by roselightsaber



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016), Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Fluff and Smut, Love Confessions, M/M, Self Confidence Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-14
Updated: 2017-02-14
Packaged: 2018-09-24 07:23:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9710915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roselightsaber/pseuds/roselightsaber
Summary: Baze is the only one who can beat Chirrut sparring hand-to-hand, and the victor likes to claim his prize.





	

Sparring with Baze has always been fun. He’s the only one who challenges him properly. He’s the only one that will fight him in earnest, ignoring his cloudy blue eyes, his slight, unassuming stature. Maybe it’s just because he _knows_  -- he’s seen the muscle hiding under his robes. He’s felt the strength of his precision strikes. He knows -- like no one else can -- how Chirrut can see, _feel_ , without needing his eyes. It’s a beautiful contradiction; Baze can fight him properly because he knows what it is to be loved by him. Knows how it is to love him. He has an intimate knowledge of his body that the other initiates might think terribly unfair if they had any idea.

Keeping it secret isn’t really a necessity, but more of a game, on Chirrut’s end. There’s no rule, no elder in particular checking to see what they’re up to. But secrecy is _thrilling_ , at least to Chirrut. To Baze it’s somewhere between necessary and comforting, inexorable for the sake of his pride and fear and guilt. Chirrut, though, is happy to oblige. And as for the burst of adrenaline, the gasp of breath that rushes through him every time Baze knocks him to the ground, panting and blindsided -- that’s every bit worth the blow to his otherwise undefeated reputation. Because every time Baze beats him, his confidence surges, and he’s willing to look for more than bragging rights as a reward.

It’s rare, still. Baze might be the only one who can beat him, but that doesn’t mean he does it every time. Chirrut is tempted to let him win, but he knows Baze would be able to tell, and he knows it would ruin the whole thing if he did. So Chirrut fights like he does with everyone -- as hard as he can, ruthless, opportunistic. And he’s _delighted_  when Baze manages to take him to the ground anyway, just as brutally. Baze has gotten stronger lately, and Chirrut is not afraid to tell him as much -- _after_  he wins. Baze on the high of a win over Chirrut in view of their masters and their peers is unlike anything else in the world. Chirrut craves it sometimes, the confidence, the forwardness, the pure, possessive _want_  that takes him over in those moments. So as Chirrut grins up at him from the sand, Baze’s staff jabbed into his chest, he’s not only thrilled at the other’s progress. Anticipation already curls low in his belly, white-hot and longing. Baze pulls him to his feet and grins at him in that way he only does after a victory. Chirrut doesn’t feel like he’s lost at all.

As soon as they’re free from their duties, Baze’s hands are on him. It’s a trained response by now, though it’s not really clear who has been encouraging the association more. His hands are big and warm and calloused and fit just right at Chirrut’s hips as they make their way impatiently back to their quarters. Chirrut is only half surprised when he’s spun and pressed back against the wall before they get there -- it happens, in moments like this sometimes. What manages to surprise him, every single time, is how Baze kisses him, hungrily, every time as passionate as the first. The thrill it sends through him is just as stunning; it’s a feeling that never fades. Baze takes him over, hands pinning him to flagstones; his scent and body heat and _presence_  fill his senses even before they manage to trip over each other all the way to their room. He has gotten so _strong_  lately, taller and broader and even more well-built, as they enter their twenties. That alone isn’t why he can defeat Chirrut hand-to-hand, but it might make him slightly less willing to give it his all. Chirrut would rather feel his size and strength like this, against the wall, the door, than in battle.

“Wait -- wait,” He laughs against Baze’s insistent lips, reaching behind himself to open the door and nearly fall inside.

“Can’t wait,” Baze murmurs right back, just as amused, just as impatient. “Do you know how you look?”

“No, but I know how _you_  think I look,” He laughs, leaning back against the door from the other side now, in the pleasant embrace of privacy that spurs on Baze that much more.

“How I _know_ you look,” Baze purrs, nuzzling under Chirrut’s ear, grasping tightly at his hips. “The most beautiful creature imaginable, my Chirrut.”

“You are just -- in the heat of victory.”

“I am only caught up in the heat of _you_ ,” He counters, the easy confidence of his win radiating off of him, through fingertips that dip dangerously low and grasp a handful of his ass with a sly smirk. “You must know the effect you have on me by now.”

“I know,” Chirrut replies, hands scrambling over Baze’s chest. “I think we have the same effect on each other.”

Baze shivers, to Chirrut’s surprise. He’s used to grandstanding confidence or quiet confessions, not this vagueness in the middle. “You really want me, don’t you?” He asks, softly but still with that edge of complete certainty. “Like I want you.”

“I do,” Chirrut breathes against his neck, hands finding the opening in Baze’s robes to slip underneath and feel his thick torso, his perfectly sculpted chest. “Every inch of you.”

Baze smirks into another kiss -- there’s that swagger again, bravado straddling the line between real and pretended. There’s no faking the husky tone of his voice, though, nor the firm grip of his hands at his waist. Chirrut has hesitations about being manhandled -- not being in control of his body when he already can’t see can be disorienting -- but when Baze is in this mood it’s more than welcome and he’s sure Baze knows it. He’s more certain when Baze spins him around, hands bruising tight at his hips. “Every inch of me, huh...” Chirrut braces his hands against the wall as Baze presses against his back and nips at his ear. “Would you let me take you like this?” Baze’s broad hand gropes at his ass again as he nudges his legs further apart with his knee.

“Yes,” Chirrut breathes without hesitation. Baze is testing something, some boundary, and Chirrut doesn’t want to let that confidence falter in the least. That’s a consideration -- that and the fact that he can feel Baze already hard and pressed against him, and the notion of him fucking him against the wall is appealing in itself.

“Really?” Baze’s bravado slips into something between surprise and amusement, and it pulls a faint laugh from both of them. Chirrut _knows;_  he’s seen Baze struggle, seen his confidence falter and fail him. He’s still smiling when he drops a kiss to Chirrut’s shoulder, but at least to Chirrut, that’s all part of his charm. “You want me that badly?”

“I want you,” He assures, trying to keep the annoyance out of his voice, though he’s just a little too lust-fogged to stop and relieve his doubts now, especially when the other’s confidence had been doing so much for him. His frustration is assuaged when Baze starts tugging at his robes though, baring his neck and shoulders and dotting the skin with kisses, light at first and quickly escalating to sucking red marks across his shoulder blades.

“Say it again,” He murmurs, nipping roughly at the juncture of Chirrut’s neck and shoulder as he lets the other’s robes fall to pool at his hips.

Not much makes Chirrut blush, but those words whispered huskily against his skin send a flush of color across his cheeks. He tips his head to give Baze better access to his neck, groaning. “I _want you_.”

“I know you do,” Baze huffs, fingers of one hand splaying across Chirrut’s chest as the other holds tight to his waist. “Show me,” He murmurs after planting a few more kisses across his back, loosening his hold on the other. “Show me you want me.”

Chirrut turns in his arms, a wide grin on his face. “I like when you say things like that, you know.” He reaches for Baze’s robes, hands caressing his chest again. “Take this off, I want to feel you.”

Baze might be taking control more than usual, but he doesn’t give a second thought to stripping down at Chirrut’s request, and Chirrut is sure to reward him for it, hands and mouth instantly on his neck, his chest, every bit of exposed skin. Baze sighs at the touch, and Chirrut can feel his eyes on him -- even now, in the heat of the moment, Chirrut knows he’s giving him that soft, adoring look. No matter how long they’re together, no matter how lust has gripped them both, Baze can’t seem to stop looking at him like a smitten teenager. Chirrut leans up to kiss him, hands feeling the lines of his body. It’s hard to imagine now the gawky youth Baze had been, feeling how solid he’s grown. Chirrut has always thought him beautiful, of course, but the weight of him lately makes him wild, draws that rare flush to his skin.

“You feel so good,” Chirrut murmurs, shamelessly rubbing himself against Baze’s thigh. “You’re training more lately, aren’t you?”

“A bit,” He answers, undeniably pleased. “Do I feel different?”

Chirrut’s hands trace the lines of his pecs before smoothing down Baze’s arms. “Stronger,” He says with a pleased nod, giving his biceps a squeeze before measuring around his waist. “Bigger all over...” He’s half aware of the unabashed lust in his voice, but if he were at all inclined to be more subtle, that impulse is gone with how Baze hums low in his throat and pulls him close, hands tugging roughly at his robes to get them the rest of the way off.

“I have to keep up with you,” He teases gently, palming at Chirrut through the front of his underwear. “I don’t get you on your back like that often.”

Chirrut snorts. “You fought well. No need to gloat.”

Baze hooks his thumbs in the waistband of Chirrut’s breeches and gives them a tug, leaving him completely bare at last as he kicks the garment aside. “I think you like my gloating a little.” He leans in to kiss him, undoing his own robes and tossing them away with Chirrut’s. “In fact, it looks like you like it quite a bit.”

“I like it,” He concedes, letting Baze lean him back against the wall again, cool stone pressing into his back as he kisses him roughly. He gasps as Baze’s hand wraps around his stiffening length, his own arms thrown around Baze’s shoulders should the words alone not assure him that he’s happy to let him take control. “Really want you, Baze,” He murmurs between kisses, and not just because he knows Baze wants to hear it.

“I know,” He murmurs, still stroking him with one hand as he turns them again, nudging him toward their bed. Chirrut moans, half muffled against his neck and bucks against him, undone at finally being touched after all his teasing. Baze untangles from him just a moment, long enough to kiss him hungrily and then take a seat on their bed, yanking Chirrut closer by the hips. “Really want you too,” He whispers into the line of muscle over his hipbone, tongue tracing over the spot. He takes him in his mouth before Chirrut is even certain he intends to, pulling a surprised sound halfway between a moan and a gasp from him as he digs his fingers into Baze’s close-cropped hair. It’s a struggle not to thrust into that heat in earnest; Baze’s hands at his hips restrain his more overeager urges. He moans around him, hands slipping down to caress his thighs, completely _enthralled_ with Chirrut.

When he pulls away it’s only to give him that _look_  again, as Chirrut cups his face in one hand, thumbs at his cheekbone. “Come here,” He instructs, still kissing low across Chirrut’s stomach as he shifts back on their bed, pulling the other along with him. Sight is not at all needed for Chirrut to know where to go, how their bodies fit together, as he straddles Baze’s lap as he sits back. The last of his clothes are tossed aside so Chirrut can grind against him, skin on skin, arms coiling around his neck again. “Ride me like this,” Another order, as soft-spoken as it is straightforward. “And tell me again.”

“I -- ah --” Chirrut is interrupted by the intense double sensation of Baze pushing a slick finger to his entrance and the somehow more intrusive feeling of dark eyes searching him as if peering to his soul. Chirrut is almost relieved to be blind when Baze gives him that look; the energy it generates around them, the prickling sensation alone is almost too much to bear. “I want you, Baze.”

Baze is at his throat again in an instant, and Chirrut dimly thinks he could be deadly if he had the barest ounce of cruelty anywhere within him. But he’s gentle even in his most primal moments, the harshest marks at his neck, his collarbones always given between a slew of kisses, looking up for permission as much as to admire his handiwork. Chirrut lets out a sound of deep satisfaction when Baze presses more deeply inside him, and by the time he slides another finger in, Chirrut is riding his fingers shamelessly, hands bracing against Baze’s chest as the other holds him in place, marking him all over. “You want me inside you?” He purrs in a voice that suggest he’s already very sure of the answer, sure enough that the question feels like a flimsy excuse to press his lips against Chirrut’s ear, to nip at it and pull gently. Fair play, he supposes, nodding vehemently.

“I do,” He breathes, smacking his chest just a little less than gently. “Come on, don’t tease.”

“All right, don’t get impatient.” Baze laughs more warmly than he’s ever heard, a sound of pure bliss, brief and sweet as he kisses the corner of his lips. It takes Chirrut’s breath away for a moment, the ripple in the Force that comes with that soft sound. It’s something like a beam of sunlight, almost visible somehow, warm and all-encompassing. The rare glow of _just_ Baze, without the shadow of hurt or worry or guilt, illuminated by love. He drops his forehead to Baze’s shoulder with a gasp at the feeling and _clings_  to him, white-hot with the mingling of physical need and this vision of the Force. He can’t say for certain how Baze interprets this, and he doesn’t want to risk dimming that glow to ask, but his arm wrapped around him feels secure, a hand stroking up and down his back as he guides him. “Ready?”

Chirrut nods again, breathless and suddenly terribly short on words, but flashes him a smile to rival that glow before lowering himself onto Baze. The other’s intense gaze is off him now, his focus redirected to giving Chirrut a moment to adjust. Chirrut tilts his head and centers too on this sensation, at once satisfying and overwhelming. “Every time,” He mutters, teasing and praising all mixed up into one. “Every time it still surprises me.”

Baze flushes red this time, and though Chirrut can’t see it he brings a hand to his chest, his face, the tips of his ears, feeling for that heat with a smirk. “You just enjoy saying filthy things to me,” Baze counters, hips snapping up as Chirrut lowers himself down again.

“That’s -- ah -- not even that filthy.” He tugs at Baze’s ear. “You’re the one who wants to hear that I want you.”

“I do,” He murmurs, and Chirrut isn’t really sure what to do with this total lack of argument, nor does he see any reason to pick more of a fight as Baze nuzzles against his neck and thrusts in time with his movements again, harder this time, finding just the right spot. “I always want to hear it.”

He hooks a finger under Baze’s chin to kiss him, swallowing down those resonant moans that rumble from his chest. “I want you,” He says, he _swears,_ against his lips. “I want you, Baze. I love you --” He doesn’t realize right away that he’s changed the mantra, distracted with the gasping groan it draws from Baze, the way it tightens his grasp on him. “I _love_ you.”

Suddenly he feels the world shift beneath him -- Baze lifting him, rolling them over. He wraps his legs around his waist with a half-stifled moan as Baze thrusts into him harder, faster, the change in angle hitting _something_  that leaves Chirrut swearing he can see points of light bursting across his dark field of vision even before a rough hand starts jerking him in time with the erratic rhythm. “Say it again,” Baze’s voice is suddenly _pleading_  rather than sternly demanding. “Please, please say it again.”

“Oh -- I --” He spills over Baze’s hand with a groan, burying his face in Baze’s neck. “I love you, Baze,” He says as soon as he’s caught his breath, hands clutching at his back as if it’s the only thing keeping him grounded until Baze comes a moment later with Chirrut’s name on his lips. He goes positively boneless, as relaxed as he ever gets, and Chirrut is happy to hold him there through the serenity of the afterglow, letting him soak in every second of complete peace, complete pleasure. Chirrut isn’t missing out on it, either -- far from it, he lets Baze consume his senses, overwhelming but oddly calming. He takes a sort of inventory: the sound of Baze’s breath, the rise and fall of it in his chest, his heartbeat, the slow-motion untangling of limbs as Baze moves to lie besides him.

His eyes are on him again, unmistakable even before he speaks, before a warm hand rests against his cheek. “You are amazing,” He murmurs, still breathless. It brings a giddy smile to Chirrut’s face to hear him so undone. “You, uh...” He laughs softly, shifting closer. “You’ve never said that to me before.”

Chirrut leans over him, a hand feeling for his heartbeat, desperately out of words. “I should have.”

Baze takes his hand, and Chirrut can feel that electric glow come over him again as Baze carefully pulls him down against his chest. “I love you too, Chirrut.”


End file.
